As Mr. Brimberly watched his master select and light his cigar, it chanced that Young R. raised his eyes and looked at him, and to be sure those eyes were surprisingly piercing and quick for one so very languid.  Indeed, Mr. Brimberly seemed to think so, for he coughed again, faint and discreetly, behind his hand, while his whiskers quivered slightly, though perceptibly.

“You’re ’ome quite—­quite unexpected, sir!”

“Brimberly, I’m afraid I am, but I hope I don’t intrude?”

“Intrude, sir!” repeated Mr. Brimberly.  “Oh, very facetious, sir, very facetious indeed!” and he laughed, deferentially and soft.

“I blew the horn, but I see he left his hat behind him!” sighed Young R., nodding languidly toward the headgear of Mr. Stevens, which had fallen beneath a chair and thus escaped notice.

“Why, I—­indeed, sir,” said Mr. Brimberly, stooping to make a fierce clutch at it, “I took the liberty of showing a friend of mine your—­your picters, sir—­no offence, I ’ope, sir?”

“Friend?” murmured his master.

“Name of Stevens, sir, valet to Lord Barberton—­a most sooperior person indeed, sir!”

“Barberton?  I don’t agree with you, Brimberly.”

“Stevens, sir!”

“Ah!  And you showed him my—­pictures, did you?”

“Yes, sir, I did take that liberty—­no offence, sir, I—­”

“Hum!  Did he like ’em?”

“Like them, sir!  ’E were fair overpowered, sir!  Brandy and soda, sir?”

“Thanks!  Did he like that, too?”

“Why, sir—­I—­indeed—­”

“Oh, never mind—­to-night is an occasion, anyway—­just a splash of soda!  Yes, Brimberly, when the clocks strike midnight I shall be thirty-five years old—­”

“Indeed, sir!” exclaimed Brimberly, clasping his plump hands softly and bowing, “then allow me to wish you many, many ’appy returns, sir, with continued ’ealth, wealth, and all ’appiness, sir!”

“Happiness?” repeated Young R., and smiled quite bitterly, as only the truly young can smile.  “Happiness!” said he again, “thank you, Brimberly—­now take your friend his hat, and have the extreme goodness to make up the fire for me.  I love a fire, as you know, but especially when I am mournful.  And pray—­hurry, Brimberly!”

Forthwith Mr. Brimberly bowed and bustled out, but very soon bustled in again; and now, as he stooped, menial-like, to ply the coal tongs, though his domelike brow preserved all its wonted serenity, no words could possibly express all the mute rebellion of those eloquent whiskers.

“Hanything more, sir?” he enquired, as he rose from his knees.

“Why, yes,” said Young R., glancing up at him, and beneath the quizzical look in those sleepy grey eyes, Mr. Brimberly’s whiskers wilted slightly.  “You’re getting a trifle too—­er—­portly to hop round on your knees, aren’t you, Brimberly?  Pray sit down and talk to me.”

Mr. Brimberly bowed and took a chair, sitting very upright and attentive while his master frowned into the fire.